


Decaf

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 17:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11109375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Kíli caters to his difficult manager.





	Decaf

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for ktime247’s “23 Kili & Dwalin please (Coffee Shop)” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/161379570810/au-prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

“So then Bofur, completely out of nowhere, drops this giant watermelon—” and the rest Kíli doesn’t hear, because suddenly nothing Fíli could say could possibly be as important as what’s just walked through the glass doors of the café. In a heartbeat, Kíli’s darted in front of the register, ignoring Fíli’s affronted, “Hey! I wasn’t finished!”

The rest of the _Erebor_ café is almost empty, taken up only by the large redheaded regular that never seems to leave the window seat. Every other round table is empty and, unfortunately, hardly clean—in Kíli’s peripherals, he can see Fíli sneaking towards one with a dishrag; he must’ve realized who the bell just rang for. This isn’t the time to aimlessly meander about their duties. Kíli stands taut behind the register, set on alert, the biggest smile he can muster plastered across his face. He’s glad now that he bothered to tame his hair and even use gel this morning. He looks good. He hopes. He glances down once to check his reflection in the glossy register, but it’s too blurry to go by, and then his favourite customer is right across the counter and he’s grinning winningly up again. 

“Good morning, Sir,” Kíli greets cheerily, in a voice so charming that Fíli rolls his eyes in the background. Kíli deliberately doesn’t look at him. Kíli’s gaze is too fixated on their hulking manager, particularly tall for a dwarf, broad with muscles instead of girth, done crisply up in the sort of business suit Kíli often fantasizes about peeling off him. His beard has two silver beads in it that catch the fluorescent light, his head bare to reveal striking tattoos. Kíli has to clear his throat to focus and ask sweetly, “What can I make for you today?”

Dwalin squints. Kíli gets the distinct impression that he’s under suspicion, which is ridiculous: he’s always perfectly well behaved. At least, he always is when Dwalin’s around. He brushes it off as Dwalin just being _Dwalin_ ; their diligent manager is infamously gruff with everyone.

To Kíli, he drops his stainless steel mug on the counter and grunts, “Americano.”

“Absolutely, Sir,” Kíli chirps, punching the order in without even looking. “And is that all for you? All of our baked goods are one hundred percent fresh, baked this morning!” And, hopefully, they look like they’ve been selling well, since half the display case is already empty. And Dwalin need never know that that’s because of an early muffin fight with their graveyard-shift baker, Nori.

Slowly, as though busy still processing a mystery in which Kíli is the main villain, Dwalin answers, “A bagel.”

“And would you like that toasted, Sir? Buttered? With cheese? Or we have a variety of jams.”

“Buttered.”

“Coming right up!” Adding that to the total, Kíli announces, “That will be eight dollars and fifty cents, please.” He deliberately ignores the urge to give Dwalin the order for free—he never wants it ‘on the house’ on days he isn’t working, and Kíli’s gotten in trouble for such presumptions before. It looks like he’s about to get in trouble for something else. But Dwalin just grunts and reaches into the pocket of his pants for his wallet.

As he flips through his bills, Kíli asks, “And how are you doing?”

Dwalin looks up with a look somewhere between incredulous and irritated. Kíli gives what he hopes is a casual shrug and dares to suggest, “Got a date, perhaps? You’re looking particularly handsome today.” Kíli would certainly take him out like this. Or in anything. Maybe naked.

Dwalin slams a five, two toonies, and a loonie onto the counter. He storms off without answering, which doesn’t surprise Kíli in the slightest. He’s still pleased with himself for managing to slip his compliment into a somewhat normal conversation. If that could be qualified as a ‘conversation,’ anyway. He scoops the change into the drawer and tosses the two quarters left over into the tip jar, mentally ticking off: one for him, one for Fíli. 

Fíli comes around again to collect the mug, but before he can, Kíli mutters under his breath, “I’ll do it.” And Fíli, ever understanding even in instances where they can’t afford public discussion, rolls his eyes but nods. He proceeds to wipe down the counter—a show for Dwalin—while Kíli collects one of the bagels from the displace case and plops it, pre-cut, into the toaster. He deals with the coffee while he waits, fully aware that Dwalin, perched at the table in the far corner, can see everything. Once, Kíli looks up to smile, taking in a quick scan of Dwalin in all his gorgeous glory, from his thick arms to the luster of his eyes. He looks like he could do push-ups with Kíli on his back. Kíli would rather he do push-ups directly over top of Kíli, sans the suit, but that’s a daydream for another time.

As soon as the coffee’s done, Kíli fishes out their best plate—the only one with not a single chip—and butters the bagel on it, careful to make it all even, but still mindful of the time. When he finally delivers the plate and mug over to Dwalin’s table, he’s beaming. Usually, that smile earns him an extra tip, if not a number.

He’s never gotten Dwalin’s number. He’s aware Dwalin’s older, richer, and a plethora of other things, but he still intrinsically believes that if he just smacks the charm on hard enough, he’ll eventually get his man. 

He sets the plate down on Dwalin’s table, pushing the coffee forward, and says, “If you need anything else, I’ll be right over there.” In actuality, all Dwalin would have to do would be to say his name, and he’d come running. He lingers at the table a little longer than necessary, hoping, as always, for an invitation to sit down.

Instead, Dwalin glances once about the café, then leans forward to growl low, “Alright, lad, you listen and you listen good, you can cut this bull right out!”

Kíli blinks, instantly wavering between confused and crushed. All he can do is ask, “What?”

“You think it does you any good to act like that?” Dwalin seethes, the rage of battle in his dazzling eyes. “I know damn well you don’t behave that well for every customer, and I don’t appreciate you putting on airs for me, as though I’m supposed to buy you’re always that good!”

Now Kíli understands, even if Dwalin doesn’t, and he squawks, “No, I wasn’t—”

“I don’t appreciate ass-kissing, Kíli! Acting like a simpering sycophant around me isn’t going to win you any points! If this is some ploy to get a raise—”

“No!” Kíli splutters, but it’s too late, Dwalin’s already rambling on.

“Every single customer that walks through those doors deserves to be treated equally! I won’t have you treating me any different just because I’m your b—”

“I have a crush on you!” Kíli blurts, loud enough to interrupt Dwalin and probably for Fíli to hear. So Kíli hurriedly lowers his voice and leans down as he rushes to explain, “I’m not treating you any different because you’re the manager, honest! I just... I just like you, okay?” And there’s really nothing else to explain that that.

Dwalin goes quiet. Kíli can feel his face heating. He wishes he’d finally grown a beard out to at least hide some of it; he’s sure he’s red from forehead to feet. Wholly embarrassed and trying to channel his uncle Thorin’s resilience to overcome it, Kíli mutters hotly, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be serving other customers.” And he turns away, even though only one new person has come in, and Fíli’s handling it.

He only gets a step before he hears Dwalin’s voice, considerably gentler than usual, breathing, “Kíli”

Kíli looks back. Hope swells in his chest, but Dwalin only mutters, “Thanks for the coffee.”

It’s enough. It’s a lot for Dwalin, and it’s a start. Smiling and blushing in equal measure, Kíli nods and gets back to work.


End file.
